


The City

by nostalgia



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Oldfic, book not telly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-05
Updated: 2005-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22132987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: To blaspheme in LA
Kudos: 2





	The City

There is no collective noun for angels.

This troubles you slightly, despite the fact that the only and only time you asked He told you that each of you is unique and special to Him, each in your own way. If you didn’t know better you would think that had been an insult of some kind. That’s not His style though, because if you’d actually done something to earn a backhanded compliment like that He’d have rained vengeance down upon you (this was in the Really Old Days, before he’d had a kid and mellowed somewhat).

But here you are, in the city of angels, and it occurs to you once again that there is no collective noun for your sort. It’s probably just another reminder of how much you needed this break. Crowley will take care of things back home, and you haven’t had a proper holiday since the Napoleonic Wars (Berlin in ’89 doesn’t really count).

A serenity of angels? A harmony?

You lean back against the cold metal of the… do they still call them benches? Why is everything made of metal these days? Blessed above all others and they can’t even make a seat that won’t give you hypothermia. Not that you’re questioning the ineffable plan, obviously.

In your line of work there’s never actually such a thing as a day off, and the sudden in drop in crime within a half-mile radius of this bench is more a reflex than intent. Because you can never, ever stop being what you are. A man stopped you in the street earlier to inform you that Jesus Saves, and you smiled and nodded politely. You rather wished that you had other people to do all the tedious legwork. But then again, it’s been your experience that the most fanatical evangelists are the often the ones who least understand what they’re actually talking about. Crowley’s probably right when he says these people will find a way to twist anything. But that’s free will, isn’t it? Like with the Tree of Knowledge, but…

It’s not that you’re questioning His methods, and you wouldn’t say he’s been lax, really you wouldn’t, but…

They don’t quite seem to have got the concept. All that effort to package the Message for each culture and they still get it wrong. They can spout the Word all they want, but they still manage to avoid the basic gist of it all. Maybe He’d have been better off just popping in every now and then and reminding them to Be Nice To Each other, which would let Him have his free will thing and wouldn’t be that hard for an omnipotent deity, really, would it?

But Crowley says they’d still find something to misinterpret. “Oh, but what exactly does He mean by ‘nice’?” or “So obviously he wants us to kill people we can’t be nice to.”

You remember why you gave up taking holidays. They just make you think too much. Better to have something to do, better to have a distraction of some sort.

So you stand up to leave, and take a last look around, taking in the city of angels. You can get a flight back in the morning, call Crowley from Heathrow and harass him until he agrees to come and collect you. (Better pick something up at the duty free, let no good deed go unrewarded, that sort of thing.)

You hand most of the remainder of your American money to a woman crouched in a shop doorway. When she finally understands that, yes, she can keep it and no, you don’t expect anything in return, she smiles; “God bless you.”

But you’re not the one who needs it.


End file.
